Coffee Break
by bigkitty-chan
Summary: It has been 3 years since the Death of John Winchester and Dean is in desperate need of some nostalgia. Castiel gives it his best attempt. One shot.


A/N: WHAT IS THIS? I CAN'T BE WRITING STUFF LIKE THIS WHEN MY OTHER FIC IS IN SUCH DESPERATE NEED OF UPDATES! I am going to be killed.

This is my first boy kiss EVER. Never thought that it would be this pairing. I hope you enjoy fluff. Because that is what this is. Fluff pure and simple. Some slight angst, but really fluff all around. I tried to keep it feeling like Supernatural though with some light humor.

No beta because I was too afraid to ask.

Enjoy!

Dean didn't like coffee, not really.

The acidic flavor never agreed with him, or he would burn his tongue and everything would taste like cardboard for a week. Including pie. Dean could never forgive something that took pie away from him, no matter how many times his brother tried to convince him that it was probably better to burn his tongue a few times than increase his chances of cirrhosis. He would watch Sam and his cup of straight Colombian black with one sugar and would visibly cringe at the thought of putting that anywhere near his mouth.

What Dean liked was the light coffee taste that accompanied an unwashed thermos.

It reminded him of long lights in the Impala when John had no time to stop in another musty hotel room for the night in favor of continuing on to the next town, the next job. They would drive to the soft hum of rubber wheels rotating over rocky blacktop, and Sam would nod off to is as if it were a lullaby. Dean would sit in the passenger's seat next to his father trying his hardest to stay awake, the smell of his father's coffee wafting slowly to fill the car. It wasn't even good coffee; not that Dean would have been able tell the difference between twelve hour old gas station coffee, and gourmet hand roasted brew if he wanted too.

Dean would inhale, silently wondering whether caffeine could be introduced to his bloodstream via scent. He would stare out the window, forcing his eyes to stay awake to the white stripes that moved rhythmically under the car. He couldn't fall asleep, he needed to prove he could stay awake and be as strong as he could be. He had to be a good son, and good sons don't fall asleep behind the wheel.

_Don't fall asleep, don't fall asleep..._ Dean would silently chant to himself, fervently trying to ignore the sound of his brother's even breath, the melodic hum of the engine, and the ever growing beck and call of sleep luring him into its clutches. He would shake his head, short hair flopping lightly, and hope John wouldn't notice. John did notice, of course, but was not about to let on about it. He wouldn't even glance over momentarily, then go back to keeping his eyes trained on the road in front of them.

There would be more general stubbornness that seemed synonymous with Winchester blood, but eventually Dean would crack and admit he was thirsty. Thirst, he surmised, was a perfectly acceptable excuse, and certainly did not mean that he was tired. No, there was no way that his father would be able to draw that conclusion from a simple parched throat.

Now, the Impala wasn't exactly a family friendly car, so to speak. There had been several reasons that Mary had wanted John to purchase the Volkswagen station wagon. Cup holders had been one of them.

John would take the last swig of coffee from his thermos because there were no other cups in the car, and blindly reach into the back seat where they always kept a small jug of water for emergencies. Most of those emergencies had more to do with the rosary beads wrapped around the top of the jug and less to do with dehydration, but there really wasn't any harm in drinking sanctified water; unless, of course, you were a demon.

Dean would have to carefully pour the water into the now empty thermos, taking care not to spill any on the aged leather. Slowly sipping, Dean would taste the leftover coffee wash over his taste buds and cringe lightly. Complaining was not an option, so Dean would take it slow, easing himself into the flavor.

This was a constantly reoccurring event, a ritual to be shared between father and son; Dean's mind wandered as he watched Sam take a draft from his own mom and pop shop black coffee. He stared longingly at his empty water glass and let his eyes drift out the window of the small store.

Sam, Castiel, and he had stopped in the only coffee shop in town for a short break on their way to southern Missouri. The angel had been, up until then, fiddling with the coffee mug that had been filled for him. There had been hurried shushing and rushed explanations when Castiel had tried to explain, albeit politely, to the waitress that he did not require food or drink because he was, well, an angel of the lord. The result had the Winchesters paying for another mug of steaming hot joe when Sam had just told the confused young girl to leave the pot next to the water jug instead of sticking with the insanity plea that Dean probably would have used.

Sam shut his laptop with a snap, instantly pulling Dean from his daydream, to announce that he was going to the bathroom and not to blow anything up while he was gone. Dean glanced over as Sam sauntered toward the back of the shop, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Silence. Who ever said that it wasn't deafening?

There was an underlying tension at the table that Dean couldn't put his finger on. He looked up and-

"Jesus Cas. We've had this conversation before." Castiel had been leaning over, face less than an inch away from Dean's, a contemplative look plastered to his face.

He leaned away, not bothering to apologize, Dean doubted he was really sorry anyway. Cas looked at his mug of still steaming coffee, then at Dean, and back down to his coffee. Before Dean could ask, the angel lifted the mug to his lips and downed the contents in one go. Dean had no time to be surprised before an arm was reaching across the table, grasping the water jug, and steadily pouring fresh water into the now empty mug.

Finding himself presented with a water filled mug and big blue eyes just _looking_ at him expectantly, Dean couldn't help but be taken a bit aback by the whole scene.

"Uh, Cas?" He inquired, automatically taking the mug from the outstretched hand. "Were you, uh, reading my mind again?"

Head tilt. That damn _head tilt_ "It was not meant as an invasion of privacy."

Raising a hand in mock defeat, Dean retorted "God, you are _not _understanding the meaning of that phrase." He wasn't even _mad. _Even though the angel had plenty of time to understand human behavior, Dean resigned that you just couldn't teach an old angel new tricks, especially one as stubborn as Castiel.

"I understand Dean."

An eyebrow was raised at the remark. "What do you mean?"

"It was three years ago today. Your father. I understand."

There wasn't much that anyone could do or say anymore that could affect Dean. He'd been to hell and back, hell, he'd been to _heaven _and back more than a few times; and despite several applications of angel windex to the brain, he knew what it was like to die and still be hunted. Alistair could caw his worst insults, threats, and what have you, and Dean could simply look away unaffected by the lot of it.

But this...

This was different. This was Cas. He could look into those wide blue eyes and know for certain that he was telling the truth.

He did understand.

As much of an expert Dean and Sam may have been on absent fathers, Castiel had them beat hands down. At their darkest times, at least Sam and Dean had the comfort of knowing their father _existed; _and even when all else was lost, when every clue they could uncover turned them towards the conclusion that he was dead, they always had the lingering memory of his face etched forever in their minds.

_What are you doing, Dean?_ The thoughts that crossed through his mind had been so purely self sympathetic it was making him nauseous. He had reduced Castiel to the martyr position with his behavior; and if anyone was really in need of nostalgic comfort, it was the angel before him now, who sat waiting for Dean's response.

"Dean," Castiel's interruption of Dean's thoughts made him jerk forward slightly "You are thinking too much."

Throwing his head back in laughter, Dean had to admit that Cas was right. So it was completely without thought that he took the still warm mug from outstretched hands, and grasped the loose tie that had been dangling so tentatively before him and tugged hard. Their lips crushed together forcefully, the blueness of Castiel's eyes was soon hidden behind half lids and the deepening heat of their shared spit. The kiss was all teeth teeth and tongue and Dean could just _taste _the coffee the angel had so vigorously consumed. When they finally did pull away, a line of saliva remained, connecting lips that did not wish to part.

"So that's all fine and dandy, but there is no way I'm sleeping in the same room as you two if this is what you are going to be doing every time I step into the bathroom." Sam stood in front of them, eyebrow raised lightly, and stupid self satisfied smirk plastered to his face.

Dean cleared his throat, looking at his brother, and tried to pull away from the situation before realizing that his hand was still tangled up in Castiel's tie. The resulting impact was a slightly debauched angel tumbling forward onto Dean's chest, knocking both of them onto the floor, sending the chairs where they had been sitting tumbling to the ground along with the now water filled mug which fell with a crash and soaked everything.

Just in case having Sam discover Cas and him kissing hadn't been embarrassing enough, Dean was now sitting in soaking wet pants with said angel half on top of him and the whole shop staring at the spectacle they had created. If Sam ever wanted to wake up with eyebrows again, he would have to stop laughing soon.

"Dude, do I want to know?" Sam asked after the three of them had made a quick getaway from several curious onlookers and one severely flustered waitress.

Dean was still struggling in his damp jeans, fumbling around in the back of the impala for a spare pair. Denim and water did not go well together, and there was no way in hell that he was about to get into his baby in this state.

It was Castiel who responded to Sam's inquiry with "I was attempting to give Dean something nostalgic to offer comfort, I thought that this was the custom when someone was feeling unhappy after a loss."

The look on Sam's face was a mix between "I think I may be missing something here," and "are you telling me that boy kissing is nostalgic Dean?" Also known as Sammy bitch face number 12.

But Dean wasn't thinking about that.

As the three of them shoved themselves out of the little town, pulling what little dignity they had left with them, Dean's eyes met with Cas' and lingered there for a second longer than normal before shifting the car into gear and hauling ass.

Dean just _hoped_ that Castiel was in his head as he ran his tongue over still swollen lips and tasted the lingering tang that was part Cas and part the coffee he had consumed.

Dean let his eyes rest on the rear view mirror to meet Castiel's once more. Silent understanding passed between them and Dean knew that their next stop was going to have to be a utilities store of some kind.

They were in desperate need of a coffee maker.


End file.
